Day 8
The first couple of hours out of Galway were highly uninspiring, and I was soon feeling that the best of the journey had already passed. It is a hard thing to feel motivated when you just see uninteresting road ahead, especially when there is so much of it yet to come. I was, of course, being overly dramatic and soon found that the scenery began to improve and the traffic on the road lessen.
Kinvarra Castle, and the surrounding water were the first sights to prove me wrong. A fair amount of people seemed to agree that the castle was an impressive sight, a small flow heading towards the entrance. I rolled into town and around to the harbour, ready for a break. There was an Italian style eatery, decorated with sturdy furniture and with two small tables out front. I ordered an espresso and settled myself at a table outside. Just across the road over a small wall was the harbour water, and I admired an array of boats lined along the edge.
After leaving Kinvarra the ease and peacefulness began to end. The road became increasingly windy, slow inclines more aggressive the further I travelled. I paused by a large metal gate, which was an entrance to a farm field, to take in the view and take a minute to catch my breath. Feeling exhausted, I began to doubt myself, not sure how much more of this I could manage. And then the real hills began. Just after I’d had that questioning thought the road steepened greatly, and with tour buses and cars now sharing with me the narrow winding ascent, I had to push on.
Eventually the road widened, to allow for a viewpoint. I enjoyed the vista with an ever-changing crowd, cars and buses constantly pulling in for a photo stop and then heading on their way. I’m quite sure we all equally appreciated the surroundings, but I felt little doubt that I was the only one filled with pride at having reached that point, on what I discovered was aptly called Corkscrew Hill. Reaching any summit or viewpoint in a motorised vehicle never gives me quite the same feeling.
I was very undecided on my final destination for that day, my energy levels and enthusiasm seemed to fluctuate as much as the hills I travelled over. As I’d reached the top the wind had hit me at a rush and from then on, continued to make my journey a fight. The town of Lisdoovarna was soon upon me and I stopped to refuel (have lunch) and ponder on whether or not to continue. It soon emerged that the town was a hotspot for the older tourists, otherwise just occupied by long term residents. It is famous for a Matchmaking Festival which occurs in September every year, it seemed I would not have the opportunity to observe this intriguing festival.
My decision was made to continue on, at least out of town and towards the Cliffs of Moher. I could camp in the town just prior to the cliffs and then enjoy them as the sun rose the following morning. Though as so often happens when I travel alone, I didn’t stick to this decision. Getting up for sunrise seemed a little unlikely, waking up with a dog-tired body every morning did not encourage me to move in a hurry. The cliffs really didn’t seem that far away and if I kept going I may still catch them as the sun set…
